


Rise to the Top

by BGB



Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Author may be waxing too much poetic, Carnival, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-20
Updated: 2012-09-20
Packaged: 2017-11-14 16:39:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,136
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/517384
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BGB/pseuds/BGB
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Following a boring mission, Steve and Natasha find themselves with a little bit of downtime and a small town carnival.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rise to the Top

**Author's Note:**

> Second fandom work. Oh yeaah. Also, my descriptions may get overwrought. I'm trying to reign myself in, I promise.

The mission had been mind numbingly routine. 

To be perfectly honest, Steve didn't really understand why the Avengers had been called out in the first place. It had taken them longer to travel out to the small, Midwest cornfield town than it had to determine the source of the "mysterious activity" that SHIELD had been clocking on their monitors for approximately a week. The Avengers only been in town for barely an hour when, at 10:45 pm, they'd knocked down the door on a ranch home's basement to reveal a trio of incredibly stoned teenagers (Clint had explained the expression to both Steve and Thor, even though neither of them really needed clarification given the outstanding contextual clues to be found on scene) who had holed up with an admittedly moderately radioactive substance and had been testing it with a barrage of household cleaning products. Dr. Banner had taken care of the issue within moments, marking one of the swiftest missions yet accomplished. Due to the travel time, however, as well as the actual time and the fact that the morning and afternoon hours had been spent battling some moron who was *actually* radioactive meant that the Avengers decided to crash in the town's only roadside motel. 

Well, most of them did. Stark had blasted back off to New York the second they were cleared, citing a business meeting that they all knew was bullshit but were not invested enough to argue over. They also were tired, not stupid - the prospect of dealing with Tony Stark in a one star roadside motel was just not appealing. Likewise, when Thor had also decided to take to the air, there was very little protest, just for the sake of not having to share such small space with the giant god. And so, Steve, Agent Romanov, Agent Barton, and Dr. Banner had all gone staggering to the hotel, intent on braving the potential health hazards for the sake of just not moving for a few hours.

Unfortunately, the motel did not prove as restful as Steve had hoped. Instead of the arrangement of Barton/Romanov and Steve/Banner that Steve had been expecting, both Barton and Banner had stumbled into the first door they came to, crashing onto the double bed and down for the count within minutes. That left Steve and Agent Romanov - Natasha, she'd ground out at him more than once - to take the other room.

With the single bed.

Upon entry into the room, Steve had immediately gone red and began stuttering, halting abruptly just inside the door. "You can take the bed," he said quickly, fidgeting and looking anywhere but at Natasha, or the bed, or the bathroom, or the dresser, or - 

"Why are you staring at the ceiling?" Natasha asked from somewhere behind him, voice flat.

Steve didn't look away from the cracks in the ceiling above the closet that he'd fixed his eyes to. "Uh," he replied, fumbling rather unheroically with his shield.

There was a heavy sigh behind his right shoulder, and Natasha appeared in his peripheral vision, stepping around Steve to toss her duffel bag on the bed. "Steve, of all the Avengers and our varying extensions, on the list of the ones I consider likely to infringe upon my delicate virtue, you are the least of my concern."

Steve kept his eyes on the ceiling, but he couldn't help feeling a little flattered. "Really? What about Thor?"

Natasha deliberately slept further into his line vision so that he could see her arched eyebrow. "Pretty sure if I even so much as *tried* to sleep with Thor, I'd wake up with him on top of me and drooling in the middle of the night, or he'd just start off by claiming that spooning is an ancient activity valued by all the great warriors on Asgard."

Steve laughed, finally turning his head away from the ceiling to set down his shield. He was still having trouble looking at Natasha, though; working with her was one thing, and he had no problem sharing the general space of Avengers Tower with her, but suddenly finding himself alone with her in a one bed motel room was far more nerve wracking. He and Natasha had been slowly developing what Steve liked to think of as a friendship (she was far less cold and removed than she had been when they'd started their missions together, and the rapport they'd found with each other in battle had begun to seep into their interactions too), but...

Still.

"How about Agent Barton, then?" Steve asked, eyes fixed on his shield as he positioned it at the edge of the extremely ugly comforter. "I mean, you two have been partners for so long -"

" - which is why I know perfectly well not to trust his wandering hands," she cut in wryly, moving to stand beside the window, one gloved hand pushing the flimsy curtains aside to look out.

"Really?" he asked, still thinking. "Well, what about..." Steve paused, skipping over Stark in his head, because really - that was just something that didn't legitimately warrant an explanation. He opened his mouth to utter Banner's name, but when he looked up, Natasha was glaring at him.

"Steve, is there a particular reason you're so determined to find someone more trustworthy than you?" she asked, and even though he'd averted his gaze a little to fix on her SHIELD shoulder patch, he could see the corners of her lips twitching up. "Is there something you need to tell me?"

"What? No!" he squawked, feeling his cheeks flush pink all over again, discomfort making him eye that crack in the ceiling again. "That's... I mean, that's not -" He swallowed and flushed some more. Contrary to what Stark told everyone, Steve wasn't actually an idiot - he was aware he was being teased, but he couldn't help his reaction, not considering the subject matter and just where they were having this discussion. 

He was likewise unable to help his reaction when, taking advantage of Steve's distraction and refusal to look at her, Natasha crept up behind him and twitched the very tips of her fingers into his sides. He was surprised, that was all, Steve told himself later; there was no other reason that he actually *yelped* at the touch. Or jumped about a foot in the air as if he'd been electrocuted.

Oh," she said, voice low and entirely too amused, well suited by the grin he found sliding over her lips when he spun to face her in shock. "Oh, really Steve?"

"No!" he replied, probably a little too defensively if the widening of her smirk was any indication, and the half step backwards that he took couldn't have helped matters either. "No, I was just, I mean - and I'm not trying to tell you - there's nothing that I -"

"So what do you think these lights are?" Natasha asked, turning away from Steve to step back over to the window. 

He blinked a little at the swift change in subject, but couldn't deny feeling a little relieved. "What lights?" he asked, shuffling a little in place.

Natasha turned back around to look at him. In the yellow light of the ugly motel room, her face suddenly lost a degree of the solid facade she carried around so frequently, slipping into a look of fond amusement and something approaching exasperation. It didn't last long, but that Natasha allowed the expression at all was enough for Steve to let go of some of the tension he'd coiled up in his shoulders from the second they walked into that room. He couldn't help it; he'd never been good with women or girls, and the fact that he'd grown muscles and become Captain America hadn't changed a damn thing about that. He was still awkward and a little afraid sometimes. 

But Natasha, as their time together had grown, seemed to know when those feelings were becoming too much. When he reached that point, she would back off, letting Steve catch a glimpse of that slyness, the bits of silliness that still lurked beneath Black Widow's hard surface. So Steve stepped forward, coming up behind her. 

"Where are they?" he asked, peering out into the night beyond the curtain.

"There," she said, pointing at a yellowish pink glow over the fields across the street from their motel.

Steve stuck his hands in his pockets, leaning further in. "Huh. Looks like a carnival."

Natasha shifted, leaning in to catch a better look too. "Oh."

Steve looked down at her, noting the slight stiffness that had returned to her shoulders. "Have you ever been to one?"

The look she turned to give him could probably have melted glass, but Steve wasn't bothered. "...yes," she replied finally, though when Steve patiently waited for elaboration, she remained silent.

Steve blinked. "Well... we could always go." He swallowed. "Would you like to go?"

For a moment, Steve suspected that Natasha wasn't even going to dignify his question with a response, but then she crossed her arms over her chest, turning to look directly at him. "Did you really just ask me if I would like to go to a carnival, Captain America?"

The body language was threatening, but it didn't quite match her expression. "Um..." he stuttered, nervous anyway (she was awfully close). "Yes?"

One thin eyebrow arched. "A carnival. In a tiny town in the middle of nowhere. Surrounded by corn."

He nodded. 

She stared at him for another solid minute, and then stepped past him. "Fine. Civilian clothes. You can take the moldy bathroom."

~*~ 

Five minutes later, the two of them were stepping out into the cool autumn air. Steve turned to lock the door behind them, dropping the key into his leather jacket pocket. He hadn't really looked at what Natasha had changed into inside, but when he turned to join her in the parking lot, he paused, blinking in shock. 

Natasha, for whatever reason, was dressed almost exactly like him. They both had on brown leather jackets and blue plaid button down shirts. He was wearing his khakis while she sported jeans and boots, but it was still a startling similarity.

She tilted her head. "I decided to go as Steve Rogers for Halloween," she told him when he finally made his way over to her. She did a turn, holding her arms out to her sides. "What do you think? Will I terrify the masses?"

Her voice carried no inflection whatsoever, but Steve grinned anyway. To be perfectly honest, though he still got flustered sometimes, he absolutely loved being teased by Natasha. It was something that grew in frequency the more she loosened up around the other Avengers, but there was still something special about the type of teasing she reserved for Steve. With Stark, it was all cunningly twisted statements and sly half remarks that made it difficult to tell whether or not she actually was joking or perfectly serious. Clint was on the receiving end of frequent smacks to the head and sharp tongued insults that the archer took with a grin, and Natasha was actually quite patient with Thor but reserved with Banner. It was only with Steve that this gentle sort of teasing came out, a deliberate, obvious ribbing accompanied by her once rare little smirk. 

Not that Steve noticed or anything. Just like he wasn't noticing or, say, counting the small touches that she had begun bestowing on him. She'd started off doing them at the oddest of times, a hand to his shoulder while he was washing dishes, or a touch to the back of his neck when he bent over reading a book or the paper. But those casual, gingerly affectionate touches had slowly started to become more familiar, more genuine, just like the arm she slipped through his as they began to walk.

He grinned at her, giving her outfit one more once over. "I think that people in general might not be too frightened, but Stark will likely have a heart attack at the mere thought of two of me."

She chuckled, their steps falling into sync as they crossed the parking lot to the main road, her hand settling to clasp lightly at his elbow. Their footfalls were the only real sounds as they headed into the main part of the town, save for the whistling of wind through the fields of corn all around the town's perimeter. The town itself, though small and somewhat barren, was quiet and clean. True, there was more gravel than pavement, and dirt was more common than grass in front of a lot of the run down houses, but outside of the strains of music that could be heard from the carnival as they approached, Steve was impressed by the peacefulness that covered everything. He was unused to that much quiet, and such a dark night sky was a novelty too. Growing up in the city had been so noisy and so bright, and when he'd gone overseas the war had been too overbearing; stargazing and landscape appreciation really hadn't been in the cards. As the wind picked up, though, and Natasha moved just a little closer, Steve felt something very strange. He frowned, casting around in his memory to try and identify the feeling, only to grin at himself and shake his head.

He felt content. 

~*~

The carnival, when they finally found it in one of the parks surrounded by corn, was everything Steve could have hoped for. There were lights everywhere, blinking on the tops of ticket booths and hanging over the awnings of the game stations. The food trucks were painted in rainbows that once had likely been vibrant but had since faded with age, still cheerful despite the somewhat bored looking middle aged workers visible inside through the windows among the hanging bags of cotton candy, the built of pretzel displays, and the humming soda fountains. All around them, brightly colored carnival rides were piled with people screaming out delight and occasionally dismay as they whirled past, the voices accompanied enthusiastically by the creak of old metal and steel. 

But none of these sights, as beautiful as they were, rivaled the look on Natasha's face.

"Have you ever been to a carnival before?" he asked again. That was something Steve had noticed about Natasha. Sometimes, the same question asked at different times would yield different answers. This proved no exception.

"I've been to carnivales and circuses," Natasha replied, eyes moving slowly from spectacle to spectacle, "but nothing like this." She frowned as they passed a Tilt-A-Whirl, each rusty and paint chipped car filled with people and creaking industriously back and forth along their spinning platforms. "Why do people ride those? They look like they're about to fly off their tracks."

Steve shrugged. "They hold up better than you'd expect, it seems."

She stared at him blankly as they passed a Mixer ride. "Steve," she said seriously, "every single bolt on that ride was rusted brown."

Steve grinned. "The thrill of danger!"

She rolled her eyes hard, but when they found themselves back in front of the main ticket booth after circling the grounds twice, she failed to protest when Steve brought out his wallet and purchased two of the hot pink wristbands that would allow them to get on the rides. She did insist on putting on her own, much to the ticketer's bemusement, inspecting the thick paper band thoroughly before sticking it on. However, when Steve immediately headed for the Ferris Wheel, she actually balked.

"Really Steve?" she asked, looking up at the big structure.

"Don't you want to ride it?" he asked. He'd ridden one at Coney Island once a very, very long time ago, and the feeling of nostalgia, of old fashioned American tradition had begun to gnaw at him so badly he thought he might actually burst. Some of that feeling must have shown on his face, because Natasha sighed.

"C'mon Cap," she said, sounding resigned, "let's get on the rotating wheel of death."

He would have been more concerned if she hadn't laced their fingers together and pulled him into the line herself.

And so they stood in line, unrecognized by all the people milling around them, an anonymous pair in a sea of anonymous people, and Steve couldn't help the childish shiver of delight that sparked its way through him at the cool evening, the starry night sky, the lights and sounds and smells of the little carnival in the middle of nowhere, glittering on into the endless night.

That feeling only got stronger once the wheel began moving, stronger still as he watched Natasha lean far forward, safety bar pressing into her stomach as she watched the ground come and go for a few rotations before sitting back to watch everything else, only occasionally glancing over at the rusty mechanisms holding all the pieces together. And when they were stopped at the top, their turn to wait above as the chairs below unloaded and gathered new riders, she turned to smile at Steve. 

She'd never looked more beautiful than she did then, red hair blowing and curling in the wind, cheeks pinked, hands gripping the bar tightly as she actually smiled at him, and she looked so young. It was a look Steve never got to see in her, that no one got to see in her. He didn't know Natasha's story, not really, but he knew her life had not been easy, and had been so unfair, and to see her smiling like that...

If Steve Rogers had been another man, a braver man than everyone assumed he was when he pulled on the suit, he might have kissed her. 

Instead, though, he contented himself with beaming right back at her through strands of his own hair that had fallen from its styled sweep to flop down into his eyes.

"You big kid," Natasha muttered, reaching out her chilly fingers to brush his hair away, and if her fingers lingered at his hairline a second too long, and if his own fingers came up briefly to tuck her hair behind her ears in kind, neither of them mentioned it. And if later they ate a bag of cotton candy together, followed by a shared funnel cake and a pretzel and a large coke, they didn't verbally acknowledge to a confused Banner and an amused Barton that those food choices were the reason they both felt so awful the next morning as they boarded the jet bound back to New York. Instead, they slumped in the corner of the jet, Natasha's head on Steve's shoulder as they closed their eyes to re-watch the starry night and the sparkling carnival lights play themselves out again, dancing against the backdrop of a shared memory.


End file.
